


Pieces

by cowboyguy



Series: Still 'verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aphasia, Gen, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 07:59:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11054697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboyguy/pseuds/cowboyguy
Summary: It's so much harder to communicate now. Sometimes Sam just gets angry.





	Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "feeling broken" at the ["You Only Hurt the One You Love" fic meme](http://ohsam.livejournal.com/858133.html) on the OhSam LJ community.

The mug flies across the room, crashes into the wall and shatters into a thousand jagged pieces, coffee dregs dripping sluggishly down the vintage tile.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean cries, turning on his brother with an expression that screams surprise, anger, confusion.

Sam huffs out a frustrated breath through his nose, lets out an incoherent sound and then snaps his mouth shut again, storming away from the table.

Dean grabs his brother by the shoulder, hauling him back and forcing Sam to face him.

“No, don’t just walk away again, dammit!” Dean demands. “What the hell was that for?” He stabs a finger over at the fractured remains of the coffee mug, ceramic dust spread over the floor like grains of sand.

Sam shoves Dean back, but doesn’t leave the room, eyes shining with fury and frustration. He draws in one shaky breath after another, searching for a word, a sound, anything.

There’s nothing there.

He can’t make the words.

He’s too broken.

White ceramic shards glint in the harsh kitchen light, specks of white glimmering on the dark concrete floor.

Sam slaps a hand against his own chest, dull thump of skin against fabric, indicating himself. Feels his heart beating fast, adrenaline pumping, words circling around and around through his bloodstream, trapped.

He touches a hand to his lips, his throat, scowling at their uselessness, shakes his head.

“Yeah, you can’t talk. I know!” Dean says, trying to interpret. But he’s not getting it.

Sam shakes his head again, touching a hand to his temple and then thrusting it out towards the broken mug. It’s the same thing. Both broken, neither of them doing what they’re meant to do anymore. Neither one can be put back together.

He wants to make Dean see.

He just doesn’t know how.


End file.
